


Feriae

by theherocomplex



Series: where some holy spectacle lies [3]
Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Game(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 17:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13686390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theherocomplex/pseuds/theherocomplex
Summary: If Erend has to choose one day to live again and again, forever, this might be it.





	Feriae

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of Valentine's Day fluff, because I couldn't resist. 
> 
> [[recommended listening](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TS-adZgQog8)]

Erend learned the hard way Aloy is utterly incapable of  _not_  being stubborn. It's led to some truly impressive fights -- she can out-yell any ten ealdormen, a fact that both terrifies and thrills him -- but frustration aside, he knows it's the one of the few things that's saved their lives out on the road. If she can't glare something into submission or outthink it, well, he can usually beat the shit out of whatever's in their way. The glaring wins most. 

Sometimes, he thinks she could keep the stars in the sky with sheer willpower. 

So, he really shouldn't be surprised when she insists on exploring every facet of some ridiculous Carja sun festival that usually bores him to tears after five minutes. Never mind that he spent years in Meridian, watching the same plays, listening to the same sermons, hearing the same damn songs; she wants to see  _all_  of it. 

And, because all of  _his_  willpower up and vanishes whenever there's something that puts that big a grin on her face, he's going to let her drag him all over the city while she glories in the  _experience_. Erend puts up a good fight, because he's got a reputation to maintain, but no matter what he says, Aloy just gives him her  _it's cute you think you have a choice_  smile, and drags him another inch toward the door. 

(It's occurred to him maybe the issue here is not Aloy's stubbornness but his complete inability to turn down an opportunity to see her happy. Too many late nights, too many long roads, and too much time alone will wreck anyone's head, even Aloy's.) 

Besides, it's not as bad as he remembers. With more trade routes opening up every year, the food's a hell of a lot better, and even if most of it is too spicy for Aloy's uncultured palate (he accepts the well-deserved punch with a smile, and finishes off whatever she doesn't want without further commentary), well, it just leaves more for him to enjoy. 

Mercifully, Aloy's just as bored with the sermons as he is, but when the children's parade goes by, she's all starry-eyed delight, clapping and cheering with the rest of the crowd while the kids lisp their way through some song about the undefeated sun and the glory of its fire, or something like that. 

They're adorable, especially one pink-cheeked little girl in the front row who's not singing at all, just staring pop-eyed at Aloy. And Aloy's staring right back, grinning so hard Erend's heart hurts. 

_Right_ , he thinks, throat closed tight. A few choice thoughts try to force their way to the surface. There are things he doesn't let himself think about, and anything involving Aloy and children tops the list. Aloy's a whole mess of thorns when it comes to family, and it's not like he's much better, but -- 

\-- but who's to say they'd make a mess of things? It wasn't like it was all bad; Erend had Ersa, and while he can hold what he knows about Rost in one hand, he's going to be forever grateful to the man. They might get it right, if.  _If_. 

_Besides,_ he thinks, as the kids troop away, the little girl waving shyly back at Aloy,  _the world needs more redheads._

Aloy turns back to him, eyes shining, the set of her mouth daring him to say something. He doesn't, but he slings an arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple, breathing her in, closing his eyes against the sun in her hair. 

*** 

"What do you mean, they're not allowed?" Aloy folds her arms and glares toward the nearest priest. 

Erend very quickly puts himself in Aloy's path. "I mean," he says, "no women are _enrolled_ in the dancers' guild." 

"That's --" Aloy's brows lower, and Erend gets treated to a first-hand visual demonstration of what  _looking thunderous_  means. "That's ridiculous," she says, loud enough for the priest to turn in her direction. 

Aloy tends to take a dim, yet gently exasperated, view of how the Carja (and the Oseram, to be fair) treat women. Not everyone grew up under the gazes of a bunch of old ladies who could shrivel your skin right off with three well-timed words, or protected by a warchief with one of the best tactical minds in history. She knows Avad is trying, and that Talanah is gleefully smashing every outmoded thought in the Carja nobility. 

But now? 

" _Ridiculous_ ," she says again. "Women...can't  _dance_? Of all the -- of all the  _petty_  --" 

Erend agrees -- it's  _dancing_ , which anyone can do if they've got two working legs, no matter what's between them, and he's seen veterans who could put lie to the working-legs part -- but he needs to head this off before Aloy decides to start yelling at a priest in the middle of the festival. Avad's a patient man, but Erend doesn't want to find out where that patience ends. 

Aloy, being Aloy, has no such compunction, because why would she, and slips around him before he can catch her. 

"Oh great," he says to the sky, to the sun, to anything and anyone that will listen, and dives after her. 

The priest smiles, oblivious to the red-haired battering ram charging his way, and opens his arms. 

Then the music starts, rescuing the priest (and probably Erend, too, because he did not exactly relish the idea of breaking up that argument), and Aloy's attention snaps to the crowd milling a few feet away. 

Erend puts his mouth close to her ear as the music crests. "I said they weren't allowed to enroll," he whispers, and grins when she shivers and presses back against him. "Not that they  _didn't_  dance." 

This was always the one part of the festival he loved: the dancing. Supposedly each one tells a story of the Carja's rise, of Meridian's long climb to fortune and glory, and maybe that's true, but there's something about watching people in motion, with the music thrumming through a crowd and half the people there singing along, full-throated -- 

He's not a religious man, not really, but he thinks this is as close to holy as humans can get. 

"Oh," says Aloy. She locks her hand around Erend's wrist, and pulls him behind her through the crowd. He can feel the vibration of the dancers' footsteps in the stones beneath him, and a part of him recognizes the song. 

When they reach the impromptu stage, the dance is already in full swing. Of course it is -- they only have a few minutes before some conservative priest comes running to break up the party, so the dancers have learned to be fast. Four figures whirl and twist past each other, the sun beating hard on the metal shards sewn into the costumes, and the music spirals higher, sharper, with every beat. 

This is one of the stories he knows. Three hunters and a Stormbird, and a vicious fight for the ground that would one day be Meridian. One of the hunters became King, and another killed him -- but that doesn't matter. Not now, not while they dance. 

Not while Aloy's grinning just as wide as when she saw that little girl. She's gripping his hand so hard he feels the bones creaking, and he squeezes back, just as hard. 

Only one of the dancers is a woman -- the Stormbird itself -- and when Erend bends down to yell the story in Aloy's ear, she takes a break from grinning to roll her eyes. "She's supposed to be a  _Stormbird_?" she yells back, though thankfully only he can hear. "Really?" 

"It's art!" he answers with a shrug, and she laughs up at him, almost too bright to look at. A little girl with that hair would be -- 

The Stormbird lets out a cry so close to the real thing the crowd gasps as one, and leaps through the air toward one of the hunters. When she spreads her arms, metal wings unfold and scatter light across the square. 

All right, Erend has to admit that's actually pretty great. 

Across the stage, he sees the priest from before fighting his way toward the dancers, but the crowd keeps jostling him back. The priest seems resigned to being buffeted every way but the way he wants to go, and Erend catches sight of him laughing along with the people to either side. 

It's hard to be angry when people are celebrating life, even if you are some soft-jawed priest with a stick in your -- 

Aloy lets out a shout as the Stormbird dancer spins on one foot, dancing out of reach of two of the hunters, only to be pierced by the king-to-be. The music swallows them, the Stormbird screams, her beaked mask and headdress nearly sliding off, and collapses at the hunter's feet, one hand clawing the air. 

He can almost smell the blood-spattered sand, hear the crackling roar of the Stormbird's attacks, the real hunters' cries as they dragged it to earth forever. Aloy's breathless next to him, still gripping his hand, grinning like a fool. 

Almost holy. Almost. 

The music fades away, the drums finally go silent. The crowd breathes, Aloy breathes, Erend breathes, all with one set of lungs. 

Then the Stormbird lets out a laugh, careless and bright, and leaps to her feet. She spins again, wings chattering as she moves to the edge of the stage, and scoops up a tiny, yelling bundle. 

A tiny, yelling bundle, Erend notes, with a wry and utter lack of surprise, that's the pink-cheeked girl from before. At his side, Aloy makes an indistinct noise. 

He doesn't look at her. He can't. 

The little girl pulls off the dancer's headdress, and a thick fall of black hair tumbles down over them both. At the edge of the crowd, the priest finally finds his voice and starts calling for them to  _stop, hold, remain_ , but the dancer laughs again, pivoting into the crowd. One of the hunters -- the king -- leaps after her, snatching a kiss as they run, and the three of them disappear into the city, long before the priest can reach them. 

*** 

"That was...something," Aloy says later, before their sweat has cooled. She's still draped over him, one leg slung over his, her hair an unbound mess all around them. If Erend has to choose one day to live again and again, forever, this might be it. 

He breathes in and opens his eyes. "Yeah." She's not just talking about the past hour, and his heart kicks a little at his ribs. "It was." 

Aloy runs her hand over his bare chest, then curls it around his hip. "Do you ever --" She stops herself, then sighs, low and quiet. Erend squeezes her shoulder and hides his face in her hair. 

_You don't have to say it. Ever. And I won't ask._

"It might be --" she says, then stops, leaving that half-sentence to hang beside the first. 

He's not going to ask. He's not even going to move. This isn't a conversation worth having if she's not ready. And to tell the truth, he's not sure he is. 

"Not yet," she says, her breath warm and damp on his neck. "But soon. Maybe. Right?" 

It's a shy question, and Aloy asks it as delicately as the dancer spun on her toes, just out of reach of the hunters. She's stubborn enough to wear a mountain down to dust, but she's gentle, too, when she needs to be. 

It'll be amazing, when it happens.  _She'll_  be amazing. 

Erend rubs his thumb over the ball of her shoulder, grins when he hears her contented hum. "Right." he says, and listens to Aloy's breathing slow as she falls asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Come talk to me on [Tumblr!](http://theherocomplex.tumblr.com)


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